


Guilty Secrets

by Tonica



Category: Spellbound (1945)
Genre: M/M, Psychoanalysis, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonica/pseuds/Tonica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constance is far from convinced she has found out the whole truth about her husband's past and what caused his breakdown. She decides to do more research. What she finds out horrifies her, but it also begins to make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Secrets

It had been two months since the wedding, two months since the end of the ordeal, but Constance had not stopped thinking about the case. She was by no means convinced they had uncovered the whole truth of the matter.

They had been lucky. Her husband was safe and sound. Her mentor, doctor Brulov, was a brilliant man, but Constance still had her doubts. Naturally, she didn't tell neither her husband or her mentor, because at the moment, all she had were her own thoughts, theories, hypotheses. She was surprised doctor Brulov hadn't been more keen to uncover all the secrets of the case. It was almost as if he shied away from certain aspects of it. That in itself, was revealing enough to her mind.

So she kept working on the case, while doing her best to help her husband recover emotionally, as much as was possible. She believed that for any true healing to take place, you needed to know and expose all the facts. Not until then could you begin to rebuild what had been torn apart by the emotional trauma.

One aspect she focused much of her thinking on was her husband's guilt complex. She had even asked the question out loud once: Why do you have such severe feelings of guilt that you would rather be a killer than face them? 

In the end, she had had a few possibilities suggested to her. His time in the war, the accident in his childhood, when his brother had died. The only trouble was, she wasn't convinced. She knew that many men carried around guilt complexes, after their experiences in the war, but still – guilty they might feel – but ashamed? Warfare was a traditional male pastime. In times of war, killing didn't have the stigma of crime or immorality as it did in peace time, unless you were a police officer. As for that accident – the information was sketchy and incomplete. She needed to know more. It was always that way. Until you had the entire picture, there was no way of solving the problem.

She decided to start there. Was there any way she could find out more about John's family background? Using the pretext of going back to work – which she had to do, especially while John was convalescing – she began to do her research. 

It didn't take her long to find out that there was another brother. When she dug deeper, it turned out there was also an older sister. Unfortunately, both John's mother and sister lived far away. His brother, did not. Constance found out that she could easily visit the brother and be back again in the afternoon, before John would notice anything out of the ordinary. 

After making sure John was comfortable, she left 'for work', then went to the railway station and booked a ticket for Albany. Although she had found the brother's address, she couldn't be completely sure he was still living there, but all she could do was try.

From the railway station, she took a cab and soon found herself in the street outside the younger brother's apartment building. She paid the driver and crossed the street to enter the building. 

The man she was looking for did indeed seem to be living in the building, and as it turned out, he lived on the third floor. Constance took the stairs. The building was in need of repairs, but seemed to be quite respectable. At this time of the day, it was of course, perfectly possible that the man she was searching for would be at work, but all she could do was try.

She rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. After several minutes, she rang the doorbell again. The door didn't open, but that to the apartment next door did. A woman wearing an apron and a scarf covering her hair, looked out. 

”Are you looking for Michael Ballantyne? He's at work.”

”Yes, I am. Where would I find him at this time?”

”At 2402 Philadelphia Avenue. Just a few blocks from here. He's selling sports goods. Bicycles. That sort of thing. A very nice shop. I bought my Tommy a football there only last week.”

”Thank you, ma'am. You've been very helpful.”

”I hope it's not bad news? Is he in trouble?”

”Not at all. I bring news of a relative of his. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

”Oh. That's good.”

Constance walked back down the stairs and out into the street. She looked around for a cab, but didn't find one. Instead, she asked for directions to the address she had been given. It really was only two blocks away. She was there within ten minutes. The store looked as if it was doing well, but it wasn't one of those chains, just an invididually owned one, if she wasn't mistaken. 

Constance walked inside and looked for the owner or manager. The helpful neighbor hadn't specified Michael's position. She found a man who bore some resemblance to John, who seemed to be four or five years younger. 

”Mr Ballantyne?”

”Yes?”

”I'm Constance Petersen -”

She was about to say Ballantyne – but decided that she might do better to keep the fact that she was married to John to herself for the time being.

”Doctor Constance Petersen.”

”Oh. What can I do for you Dr Petersen?”

”I'm a psychoanalyst. I'm treating your brother, John Ballantyne.”

”Oh, I heard about that. Bad business. Do you think you can help him, doctor?”

”I very much hope so.”

”What can I do for you?”

”I'm trying to get some background information about your brother's childhood.”

”Ok. I'm the youngest, so I probably don't know that much, but I'll do my best.”

”Mr Ballantyne – I would like know more about the accident in which your brother was killed.”

The younger mr Ballantyne looked confused. A puzzled look spread across his pleasant features. Constance suspected that her husband's younger brother had had an easier life. Perhaps he hadn't even joined the army. Being so much younger, he might not even have been old enough to be eligible. 

”I'm sorry – what brother? What accident? I'm not sure I -”

Constance stared at her brother-in-law. She had had her doubts about that account, but - 

Then suddenly, Michael's face cleared up.

”Oh. Now I remember. That little incident when I fell and hurt myself. It was nothing. Just a few bruises on my forehead and a few scrapes and cuts on my elbows and knees. I'd almost forgotten. Though I suppose it was frightening for both of us. I think – I yelled my head off. My mother came running and – I remember Johnny went so pale I was more scared of that than my own little fall. Of course I was only four. I barely remember. My mother and sister yelled at poor Johnny and -”

”You never had another brother?”

”No, not that I know of. It was just the three of us – Martha, Johnny and I.”

Constance considered the younger man's words and nodded.

”I see. Thank you.”

She was about to turn and leave again, when a thought struck her.

”What was John like as he was growing up? Did anything happen that might have contributed to his breakdown?”

Michael Ballantyne looked as if he was making an effort to remember. 

”Well, the war probably changed us all, one way or another, but – I really couldn't say. Being the youngest. Maybe Martha knows more. And of course mother.”

”Where does Martha live? Your mother is in California, isn't she?”

”Mother lives in San Francisco and Martha lives in Chicago.”

”Thank you, mr Ballantyne. You have been very helpful.”

”You're welcome. If there's anything I can do to help poor Johnny -”

Constance nodded amiably and left. It was time she got back to John, before he suspected something. All the time she had been trying to help him, he had been fighting her, resisting her efforts to help him. There had to be a reason for that and Constance wasn't at all sure she'd come even close yet.

On the train back to Rochester, Constance remained deep in thought. The guilt complex the case supposedly had been built on, was falling apart like a house of cards. She realized that she hadn't asked enough questions or even the right questions before. Clearly John wasn't remembering his childhood correctly. For instance, what had happened to the father? He was dead by the time John had his breakdown, but for how long had he been gone by then? 

When she got back, she had time to do a little shopping, and was hoping John hadn't thought she was gone for too long. It was only a little after four, and she would normally work until later. On the other hand, she had decided to work part time until he was fully recovered. 

She found him looking reasonably well. He was sitting in an armchair, a book on his knees, but wasn't reading it, just looking into the distance.

”How are you, dear?”

”Oh, it's you, Constance. I'm fine. How was your day?”

”Quite well. I'll go and change and then I'll make us some dinner. No need to get up.”

”I think I've been sitting here for quite long enough.”

”Oh.”

John got up and went over to meet her, kissing her on the cheek. He looked pleased to see her and that cheered her up enormously. She realized that she was still very much concerned about his mental health. Even physically, he didn't look quite recovered.

After dinner, she decided to ask a few questions. Nothing too serious and if he got upset, she was prepared to back off. 

”Darling – I was wondering – when did your father pass away?”

John appeared troubled by her question. She was wondering what it was that was so difficult about that.

”Relatively recently. A few months ago.”

”Oh, I see. Mine passed away when I was a child.”

She tried to make the question sound as if she was just making conversation. It would definitely be necessary to meet the older sister, Martha. If she left John in Dr Brulov's hands – He was still treating John anyway, so it wouldn't seem surprising. 

The following day, at work, she placed a call to Dr Brulov. 

”Hello, doctor. It's Constance.”

”Hello, my dear. How are you?”

”I'm fine.”

”Good, good. And John?”

”As well as can be expected. Listen, I was wondering if you would like to continue with your work with him? I need to go away for a few days and if you look after him, while continuing your work – it would mean I wouldn't have to worry about him.”

”Of course, my dear. When are you leaving?”

”I'll let you know when I have made the arrangements. Soon. This week or the next.”

”Very well. I'll be waiting for your call.”

Constance was eager to go, but at the same time, she was reluctant to leave John. She knew she could rely on Dr Brulov, but – how could he accept the fragmentary information about John's childhood without questioning it at all? It wasn't what she was used to from her student days.

This time, Constance thought it would be better to fly out to Chicago. She was impatient to get on with her research. Somewhere in John's past there was a key to his illness and she was determined to find it. 

She was able to get a ticket for the day after the following day and accepted it. Now all she had to do was take John to Brulov and settle him in. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind. She knew that John resisted any further attempts at treatment and probably considered himself fully cured, as far as he would ever be. 

On the day she flew out to Chicago, Constance suddenly felt a little nervous. She sensed that she was getting closer. Michael didn't know very much, but at least he had put her on the right track. Maybe Martha would be able to tell her more. 

Martha turned out to be a pleasant woman who seemed to be three or four years older than John. When she found out that Constance was treating her brother, she confessed to feeling concerned about his condition. 

”How is he? Is he making any progress?”

”Yes, he is doing much better.”

”I have written to him, but he won't have received my letter. When all this happened – I was away on a visit to my mother. There was no information about the matter in the California newspapers and even here – It was a while until I found out.”

”I'm sure he will be pleased to receive your letter. Now, mrs Prescott – I was hoping you could tell me more about John's childhood. Were there any – upsetting incidents or anything at all you think might be relevant to the case? Anything that might have contributed to his breakdown?”

Martha appeared to consider, then began to speak.

”Well, our father left us when we were quite young. And of course, there was the war -”

”Yes. I believe there was an accident too – your brother was hurt.”

”Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten. Poor Johnny. Mother and I were so worried about little Mickey that we started scolding him. Mickey, of course, was bawling his eyes out and – but we realized very soon that no real harm was done. Both boys always had some bruises and cuts and so on. As boys do. They were always out playing in the yard, running and climbing and falling down.”

”I see. And you had no other siblings? Just the three of you?”

If Martha was surprised she didn't give any indication of it. 

”No, there was just the three of us. And mother of course.”

”Was John a nervous boy? Sensitive?”

”I suppose so, a little. He certainly wasn't as wild as many other boys we knew. Mickey too, was quite sweet as a child. Of course he's grown up to be a good man too. Just like John. Until all this dreadful business – It must have been the war. My husband says -”

”Yes, I believe the war was a factor in your brother's breakdown.”

Constance didn't say that she believed it to be a minor factor, rather than the main contributor.

She asked a few more questions, but felt she wasn't getting anywhere. Even so, there was something, that wasn't spoken out loud. Something in Martha's words or rather behind them, something about the way she looked when she talked about their childhood. She loved her brothers and her mother, but something hadn't been the way it should have been. Constance tried to get at that, but it seemed Martha might not even have been fully aware of what it was. Perhaps sensing there was something wrong, but not what. In the end Constance gave up. She knew she had to meet the three siblings' mother. Mrs Ballantyne. When she asked Martha, she found out that her mother had remarried. 

Constance decided to cancel her return ticket and go straight to California. Perhaps at last she was getting somewhere with her research.

She arrived in San Francisco a little too late to visit mrs Reynolds, the former mrs Ballantyne, so she had to get a hotel room. The first thing the following morning, Constance took a cab to the house where mrs Reynolds and presumably, her new husband, were living. It was a pleasant, even opulent mansion in the hills. Clearly, mr Reynolds was doing well in whatever business he was in. 

A uniformed maid opened the door and ushered Constance in to see her employer. There was no sign of mr Reynolds, but mrs Reynolds was sitting on a couch, her back to a window leading out over a spectacular vista. 

”Mrs Reynolds? I'm Doctor Constance Petersen.”

”Oh. How may I help you?”

”I'm the psychoanalyst who is treating your son, John Ballantyne.”

Mrs Reynolds' face lost most of its animation. She was – at least before she found out who Constance was – a well preserved, good looking woman in her sixties. Now she looked stricken.

”Yes, I had heard about that. I was in touch with John but he didn't want me to come and see him.”

That was something Constance hadn't even heard about. It wasn't a good sign – her husband keeping something like that from her. 

”I see. He is doing much better, but you have to understand that these things take time. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

”Oh. In what way? I thought these days you had all these new drugs and modern methods -”

”Oh, we do, but I would like to have a little more background information.”

”I see.”

Was it her imagination or did she see mrs Reynold's face subtly change? It was as if she was closing herself off. Constance was hoping she was wrong. 

”Mrs Reynolds – I was wondering if there was any incident, anything out of the ordinary during John's childhood. I heard about an accident -

For a moment, mrs Reynolds seemed to be hesitating, then she nodded.

”Yes, there was a little accident, nothing serious. The boys were playing and Mickey fell down and hurt himself. Not seriously, as I said. There were just a few bruises and cuts. He didn't need to see a doctor. I cleaned the cuts and dressed them myself. I'm afraid my daughter, Martha, and I, were a bit alarmed when we saw what had happened and we screamed at Johnny. He was quite upset about it. Surely that can't have had such an impact on my son?”

”Perhaps not by itself, but – it's hard to tell what might cause a child harm.”

”Well, I really don't think -”

”Anything else?”

Mrs Reynolds appeared to be thinking. Constance had the impression that the woman wasn't so much considering what to say, as pretending to think, which caused her to pay more attention. What was she hiding? There must be something – something bad, that she didn't want to discuss. Could she have beaten the children herself? But nothing the other two siblings had said had indicated anything but affection for their mother, and though that didn't completely rule out violence, Constance doubted it. The father though – no one had told her anything about him. Perhaps there was a reason for that? 

”No, not that I can think of. Except of course the war.”

”Yes, the war, of course. What about your husband?”

”Yes, what about him? I assume you mean my first husband?”

”Exactly. Did your children have a good relationship with their father?”

”Ms Petersen – in those days men were working. They did not spend much time with their children. It simply wasn't done. I suppose there are modern ideas about -”

”Yes, of course. I do see that, but surely your husband spent some time with his children?”

”I suppose he did. I really don't remember much about those days. So much has happened since. The war -”

”I understand your husband passed away relatively recently.”

”Yes. He did. As you know, I have remarried, so – we had lost touch.”

”I see. When did you divorce?”

Mrs Reynolds made a curious gesture with her right hand, as if trying to throw something away. She made a face as if the memory wasn't a pleasant one.

”Oh, several years ago. I forget the exact date.”

”How old were the children?”

”They must have been – Martha was in high school or had just graduated and Johnny must have been about fifteen or so.”

”I see.”

Constance was wondering if she could presume to ask what had prompted the divorce, but hesitated in the face of the older woman's evasiveness. Still, if she wanted to cure her husband, she couldn't let herself be hindered by difficulties standing in her way.

”May I ask what – made you and your husband divorce?”

”What kind of a question is that? Really. That's very personal.”

”Mrs Reynolds, I'm trying to help your son.”

”Then do so. Treat him. Give him medication. I don't see what else I can do to help you.”

Constance studied the woman closely for a few moments. She could see her skin taking on a hint of color. No, she wouldn't get anything more out of her. Though she didn't know it though, she had already revealed certain things about the past and to Constance's trained eye, they were almost as telling as if she had spoken out loud. 

”Thank you, mrs Reynolds. You have been very helpful.”

Constance returned to the hotel, packed her things and tried to get a ticket back to the east coast. She was lucky. Only a few hours later, a flight would be leaving for New York and she was able to get a ticket for it. She would go to Dr Brulov and pick John up. Perhaps she could even share her findings with her old mentor.

She sensed that her research into John's background wouldn't take her any further. There was no one else she could think to ask and nothing more connected with his childhood that she could delve into.

Another aspect of the case struck her. It was something that she had barely touched upon earlier, but now she began to consider it more closely. 

That casino. It had always bothered her, she realized now. Why a casino? She could, perhaps, understand sports and outdoor activities, but not a casino. Why would Edwardes have taken John to a casino? She was beginning to see that perhaps they really had gone to a casino. That the images in John's memory of the casino were actually real, and not just a representation of Green Manor. Murchison had shown up there, but now no one could ask him about what he might have seen. And the ski trip? Taking a patient to a hotel, was odd. She wasn't getting anywhere, so she tried to put the thought out of her mind, but it kept occurring to her. 

She was back so soon, she decided to take a chance and speak to a few of her colleagues. Ask them about Edwardes. 

Most of them had met him and some had known him a bit better. Yet no one had liked him. She found no one who had anything positive to say about him. When she pressed them about it, some said he was a charlatan, and she couldn't disagree with them about that, but no one would say much more. After Murchison's breakdown, time had been short, perhaps a mistake had been made. Other than that, no one was willing to comment. Why not? She had a sense that some of her colleagues knew something, but would not share the information with her. It was odd. 

In any case, she had run out of time. It was time she went to see John and Dr Brulov. She would have to continue her work later.

Her husband and Brulov greeted her warmly. Brulov's housekeeper had prepared dinner for the three of them. She enjoyed sitting down to eat with her husband and her dear mentor. They spoke of the weather, current events and in general terms, Brulov's work. Recent research results from the scientific journals. 

Just before going up to join John for the night, Constance was struck by an idea and returned to Brulov's office, where he was sitting at his desk, going through some paperwork. 

”Yes, my dear?”

”I was wondering – about Edwardes -”

”Yes?”

”Today I was talking to my colleagues and – no one had anything good to say about him. Why is that? He was chosen to replace Murchison.”

Brulov seemed to hesitate. In fact, Constance had an impression Brulov was scowling, but surely she was mistaken.

”He – had an unhealthy connection to his patients.”

Unhealthy? For a second, Constance recalled her earliest days of psychoanalysis with Brulov. His analysis of her and how close they had become – but that was not what this was about, it had only been a young girl's hero worships. Brulov had never - 

”Unhealthy?”

For the first time in their long acquaintance, Constance thought Brulov looked wary. Evasive even. He waved his arms around in a manner more Slavic than usual. As if he was trying to direct her attention away from something, rather like a cheap stage magician.

”Well, some analysts choose to use different methods. A few may use unorthodox methods.”

”Unorthodox?”

”Skiing trips -”

”Ah. And that's what Edwardes did? With all of his patients?”

”Most.”

”Oh. I see. Thank you. Well, I suppose I should go upstairs and -”

”Goodnight, my dear. Sleep well.”

”We will be leaving in the morning. Thank you for looking after John.”

”No, problem, my dear. If you remember – any husband of yours, is a husband of mine, so to speak.”

”Yes, of course. Goodnight.”

In the morning, they returned home. Constance made sure John was comfortable, then left for work. Once again, she consulted her colleagues. What she found only confirmed what she had already guessed. Edwardes almost exclusively took on male patients and not only that, only relatively young ones. Also, vulnerable, fragile young men. Some with terrible memories from the war, others – with earlier memories haunting them. 

It was as she had feared for some time now. What had caused John's breakdown, had roots far back into the past. Not the war, in his case, though it certainly hadn't helped much. His problem was connected to his father. The man about whom no had been able to tell Constance very much. Why was that? Perhaps the children never knew. Martha – had sensed something. Michael had never known. What John knew, was buried deep down in his psyche. The question was, how did you unlock that without doing irreparable harm to him? 

She was struggling with a growing conviction that she would need to confront John with this knowledge, but for the time being, she wouldn't tell Brulov about it. He, like many of her colleagues, especially the men, seemed to be determined to maintain a total silence about this. Was it really something that should be ignored? She didn't think so. As scientists and as healers, as it were, didn't they on the contrary have a duty to the victims to speak out? To break the silence? At least to the psychiatric community. The victims needed treatment, not silence. 

During the next few days, she pondered the matter closely. She felt all alone with her problem. Normally, if her husband hadn't also been her patient – and this weighed on her mind – how unethical wasn't it to marry one's patient? - he could have been the one to support her. Brulov used to be the one she turned to in professional matters. This time, she felt abandoned. She would have to manage on her own. Although she wasn't completely convinced she was doing the right thing, she decided to broach the delicate subject with John. If she didn't she would never make any more progress. 

She chose a moment, when she sensed John would be most at ease. That was usually in early evening, just after dinner. At times, she could almost believe they were an ordinary couple, enjoying their first year of marriage together, in their first home – if you could count this rented home not far from Brulov's. Some day soon, they would have a proper home, on their own. 

”John – I would like to ask you a few questions, if you're feeling up to it.”

He raised his eyes from the evening paper and met her gaze, then a smile spread across his otherwise somber features.

”Of course, darling. What is it?”

”Over the past week, I have been visiting your family and – I have also been speaking to a few of my colleagues. Forgive me for asking you about this, but – when Edwardes took you to that hotel -”

That was all she had time for, before John leapt out of his armchair and charged at her. For a second, she thought he would physically attack her. Instead, he made for the door. Was he going to escape from her? 

”John, please.”

With a visible effort, he calmed down at least a little. He rearranged his features to seem unperturbed. 

”Where do you get your ideas, darling? Besides, going all the way to California – I haven't had much to do with my mother since she remarried. Now that we're married, I would like you to resign from your post.”

This was not what Constance had been expecting, but she knew it was just a diversion tactic and she tried not to feel offended and hurt, though it wasn't easy. She was the one who had saved him, after all. Drawing on her professional qualifications. 

”Yes, dear. When we have children -”

Once again, she was stunned by his reaction. Suddenly, he was tense and pale again. It hit her that perhaps they would never be able to have children. Not if John never fully recovered, not with this – unresolved – in his past. 

”Darling – calm down. We will say no more about this for the time being. Go on, sit down and read your paper. Don't upset yourself.”

”Of course. I'm sorry.”

He did look contrite too. Every bit as loving and caring as she had grown used to in the past couple of weeks. If only it could be like this always.

It was time she talked to Brulov again and furthermore – it was time to consult someone else.

The following day, Constance was anxious about leaving John alone, but to her relief, he appeared as normal as he ever was, these days. He seemed to be in a good mood and looked calm and relaxed. She kissed his cheek and said goodbye. 

Instead of going in to work, she went to see Brulov again. This time, she would not let herself be put off by his evasion.

He seemed surprised and pleased to see her again so soon. 

”Hello, my dear. How lovely to see you this soon. I hope nothing is wrong with John?”

”No. I have something to discuss with you.”

”Please. Sit down. I'm all ears.”

She was wondering if he would feel quite so receptive when she told him of her findings. This time, she would make sure he heard her out.

So she told him everything she had found out and everything she had deduced then sat back and watched her old mentor expectantly. At first he appeared ill at ease, but he braced himself and prepared himself to reply. This was the Brulov she was used to from her days as a student and she found herself fervently hoping he wouldn't disappoint her.

”My dear – this is as many of us have suspected for quite some time now. You are quite right that Edwardes had a bad reputation. No one knew exactly what he had been guilty of, but most of us suspected. In the case of your husband – his misconduct had graver consequences. Perhaps it is for the best. It might be time to drag this out into the open, although we shall never see justice done now.”

”My main concern is John. What can be done to help him? I don't believe I can continue treating him. It was never an ethical solution, once – our feelings for each other – became plain, and now – it's utterly impossible.”

”You are quite right, my dear. Nor can I continue as his analyst. There is something about the connection that reminds him of a father-son relationship. In some cases, that may be for the best. Now – we shall have to find another woman, preferably an older one. Mary Stone. I think she's the only possibility. There are others of course. Maria Shroeder in Vienna. Rose Fitzwilliams in London. No, it shall have to be Mary Stone.”

”Yes. Now, all I have to do is convince John to go and see her.”

To her surprise, he didn't resist the idea as much as she had feared. She had a sense that he was hoping to get better and she was hoping that was because of her. Because of their marriage. 

Early the following week, they flew out to California together. They landed in Los Angeles, took a cab and went directly to Mary Stone's clinic. She was expecting them and there was no delay. They were shown in to see her right away. 

Constance shook her hand and as she did so, studied the older woman closely. She believed this might work. The woman looked highly competent and she already knew of her reputation. There didn't seem to be any cause for concern.

While dr Stone spoke to John, Constance waited outside in a spacious, comfortable waiting area. She settled in for a long wait.

In the end, it was almost four hours until she saw John again, and then, to her alarm, he had broken down and was crying disconsolately. She ran to comfort him, but was pleased to find that he allowed himself to be comforted quite easily. He appeared relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders. She was experienced enough to realize that this was only the beginning. He would have to visit Mary Stone frequently over a long period of time, before he was fully cured, but if – and the famous therapist reassured her with her first words.

”Mrs Ballantyne – Doctor Petersen – I believe I can tell you that we have made a breakthrough today. As you know, I can not discuss any details of our session, but if your husband chooses to, he may tell you anything he would like. To begin with, I should like to see your husband every day for at least a month. After that, I believe we can make a schedule to see each other once a week, for several months. I can't say anything beyond that. If we are successful, perhaps that will be enough. So, I will see you tomorrow, then mr Ballantyne?”

”Yes, doctor. Thank you.”

They would move from their rented house in Rochester and rent another one here in California. Clearly, that was where they would need to be for the next several months at least. Constance instantly made the decision to take a leave of absence and devote herself full time to looking after John, to be the support he would need over the next weeks and months. 

On the way back to the hotel, they spoke little, but Constance couldn't help studying her husband out of the corner of her eye, as it were. He looked distraught, yet relieved. This really seemed to be working. She was so pleased for his sake. 

Once safely back in their hotel room, John appeared willing, even eager to speak to her so Constance sat down and waited.

”Constance, please forgive me for – my outburst the other night. You were right and I was – a coward. What you suspected – is true. I don't ever want to discuss this with you again, but – you were right. For a time – Martha never knew and – when my mother found out – she sent him packing, so Mickey never found out. I – what I told you about Mickey wasn't true. Just like you suspected, I even wanted to be guilty of such a crime, rather than – the real truth. Then, when he – my father – passed away, I experienced such a strong relief, I felt guilty. It was as if I had killed him with my own hands. I could almost see it. And I – as a doctor – should not be rejoicing in anyone's death. But they were all – father figures – Edwardes, Murchison – even Brulov.”

”You know it wasn't your fault. It's only natural to feel hatred for -”

”Yes, perhaps, but I felt – guilty.”

”Of course. That too, is only natural. John – about Edwardes -”

For the first time since their breakthrough, she noted that John looked tense. He even buried his face in his hands. It was a while, until he recovered enough to face her.

”Constance – I don't know what you will think of me. He – I can only conclude that he had manipulated me, controlled me to the extent that I was unable to – refuse -”

Constance, for the first time in many years, was filled with impotent rage against the man who had taken advantage of fragile, vulnerable, broken young men who had come to him to get help and instead had been - 

”You must believe me, Constance – I would never have – not of my own free will -”

She smiled through her tears, reaching out a hand to him. He took it and pulled her closer. 

”Of course, I understand that. I have never doubted it.”

For a time, they didn't speak. He just held her and she leaned on his shoulder, so happy that he was safe at last and with her, on his road to recovery. She would never let anyone hurt him again. It was over, or at least she had good reason to believe that it would soon be over. Once they were through this first difficult time, they would be able to enjoy a normal marriage, perhaps even have children. 

FIN


End file.
